FOR DAMN SURE
by BLAKKSTONE
Summary: All Jack Reacher wanted was a quiet cup of coffee. Instead, he got mixed up with bikers, dirty cops and a certain murderous vigilante...
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: The villains and the town were creations of mine. Reacher, Punisher and some others that will be mentioned belong to their respective copyright holders.**

**JACK REACHER & THE PUNISHER: FOR DAMN SURE**

**A diner somewhere...**

**A small town between New York and Boston**

**The evening**

Reacher said nothing.

He had nothing to say and no one to say it to.

He was sitting in a booth near the window. He was enjoying a mug of fine coffee. These small diners were often gems. Never too crowded. This evening, the place had very few customers. A young woman was having dinner in one corner. White, young, early 20s, pretty, long brown hair. There was a guy, white, bearded, middle aged, a trucker's cap, dressed in a jean jacket. He looked burly. The food was good and inexpensive. The service was friendly without being annoyingly cheerful. And the coffee was good. This wasn't the best coffee Reacher had ever had, but this was damn good coffee.

And the apple pie it that came with was just as good.

Jack Reacher was man of simple pleasures. He enjoyed good food, good coffee and freedom. He liked going where he wanted, when he wanted. That came from his previous lives. He grew up a military brat along with his older brother, Joe. They would go all over the place, from one base to another. Stan Reacher, Joe and Jack Reacher's father and Josephine's husband, being a proud member of the United States Marine Corps, travelled a lot because of his career.

Reacher always thought that he and his brother Joe were like clones, physically. Big guys. Big hands. Strong. But Joe was the intellectual one, the sensitive one, the one who cared about things like playing fair in fights. The one who felt bad whenever he beat somebody up.

Jack was the troublemaker. The one getting into fights and making sure he won. He never much believed in fair fights. He believed in winning. He believed in dancing over the fallen adversary's body. He believed that still.

Then, Jack Reacher joined the army. He became a member of the military police. A very good one. He became a Major, was demoted and gained his rank back. He'd put away a lot of bad people, sometimes going to extremes to do so. He won his share of medals. He took a share of lumps. He had the scars to prove it.

During that time, Stan Reacher died. Then Josephine died. She forced promises out of her sons. Jack Reacher's was to use his strength to do the right thing, always, no matter what.

Then, in the 1990s, the Army was downsizing, and Reacher was let go. Reacher decided to do something he'd never done as a soldier: travel around the United States. He knew nearly nothing about the country he came from. So he decided to explore it. No baggage. No car. No house. No worldly possessions. He was a free man.

Then Joe died.

Jack Reacher was the last of his family. He literally had no more ties to the world. All he had was a desire to go anywhere, do anything he wanted. And people usually left him alone. For one, he was a big man. White. 6'5" tall, 250 pounds of hard muscle. He didn't have a particularly pleasant demeanor. He looked unkempt. His dirty blond hair was longish and he needed a shave. He'd find a place where he could shower, shave and buy a change of clothes. Maybe in that order. Maybe not. And he would throw the clothes he was wearing in the garbage. No baggage. Nothing to his name except a foldable toothbrush. That has been his life for the past 15 years or so.

As he was drinking his coffee and pondering the possibility of having another piece of pie, he heard the sound of engines. Choppers. He glanced out and saw six of them closing in. He heard a gasp inside the diner. It came from the young woman. She got up hastily, she paid too much for her meal and stepped out.

She was running to her car parked nearby. The six bikes circled the woman and her vehicle.

This didn't look good.

Soon, one of the bikers climbed off his chopper and grabbed the young woman by the arm. She didn't seem to be enjoying that. He was bigger than she was. She struggled. He rewarded that with a slap. And another.

The other five men were watching the scene with a mix of boredom and amusement.

Reacher had seen enough. He put his mug down and stood up.

Reacher was good at many things. Keeping out of trouble was not one of them. Tolerating bullies was not one them. Some motorist who had just parked his car close to the incident had stepped out to try and confront the man. A short, round man. One of the five passive men grabbed the good Samaritan by the shirt and tossed him back first into a car door. The short round man went back to his car and drove away. Reacher was outside at that moment. He walked towards them.

He took a mental snapshot of the scene. Six men, in leather. They seemed to be wearing colors. On the back of their jackets, there was the same logo: a smiling stylised drawing of the devil. The Crimson Demons. Cute.

There was something else. A primal instinct. He was being watched. Maybe it was just the tension from what was about to happen. Maybe not. He'd check on that later.

"The fuck is your problem, asshole?" the bully asked as Reacher was closing on him.

"_You're_ the one beating up a woman half your size to impress your buddies," Reacher said, "So, I'd say _you_ have a problem. And that _you're_ the asshole."

They all looked at Reacher with some measure of amazement. They always reacted like that, Reacher knew. Bullies. Like they were offended someone would not fear them. The girl looked at Reacher as if she were terrified for him.

"What the fuck did you just say?" the head biker said.

"You heard me the first time," Reacher said, "I even used small words so you could understand, dumbass."

More disbelief. The girl's eyes were impossibly wide. He must have seemed suicidal. Another biker was walking towards Reacher. Two more were moving towards him.

"Look, fuckhead," the second biker said, "I think you need to-"

Reacher took two strides to get to him and head butted him in the face. Perfectly timed and placed. Reacher had used his upper body strength to propel it. Middle of the face. It smashed the nose . It came in with tremendous force. He took a step to his right and did the exact same thing to another biker closing in. Same effect. Bones and cartilage were crushed. Blood flew out.

The third one on Reacher's left extended his arms as if to grab or strangle him. Reacher caught the man's wrists, pulled the man towards him and, for the third time, used a head butt. Same effect as the other two.

Nobody would expect three head butts in a row. That was why he did it.

Noses were ruined. These guys would probably be out for a while. Maybe with concussions.

The other two that were not busy brutalizing the girl rushed Reacher. Reacher ran toward one of them and hit the guy in the throat with his forearm. He turned around, blocked an incoming haymaker punch with his left forearm and sent a right uppercut in the Adam's Apple.

They both fell, still alive, but their breathing seriously impaired.

Five down. One to go.

"Look out!" the girl's voice screamed.

Reacher moved quickly to his right and ducked. The biker who was holding the woman had let go of her and sliced the air with what looked like a bowie knife. He wanted to go for a reverse slash move. Reacher's right forearm blocked the biker's left forearm. He then grabbed the biker's wrist, twisted and yanked. The biker was bent over. His arm was now hyper extended. Reacher brought his knee up below the elbow, while pulling the arm down. The limb made an ugly snapping noise while bending 90 degrees the wrong way. He went down, screaming, cussing.

It was over.

So was the weird feeling from earlier. It was probably nothing.

When Reacher went to the girl, he noticed her behavior. No shakes. No tears. No thanks. When their eyes met, he read a few things, but not gratitude.

Reacher said nothing. Neither did she. Then, he understood.

"This wasn't a mugging," Reacher said, "You know these guys. You owe them money. You were gonna let them slap you around, then try to cut a deal with them."

She said nothing.

"They're not just a bunch of thugs on bikes," Reacher said, "They're part of a gang. A big gang. They probably run gambling, drugs and girls in this town. Maybe beyond."

She said nothing. Reacher looked her over.

"You're too healthy to be a junkie," Reacher said, "Gambling, maybe. Or maybe, you're one their girls. Or you were about to be one of their girls to cover you debts."

Her eyes were filled with anger. But she said nothing. Reacher looked at the unconscious bikers.

"You think I made things worse by beating those guys up," Reacher said.

"Fuckin' right you made things worse!" the girl said, "Jesus Christ, I'm so fucked."

"You looked like you needed help."

"Did I fuckin' scream for help? Fuck. Fuck!"

"Look, I can help you. I can protect you."

"You've done enough, thanks."

She was going to his car. She didn't mention the cops. He was about to and he anticipated the answer.

"How about the cops?" Reacher asked.

"You serious? They own the cops."

She was soon behind the wheel. She started her car. She looked up at him.

"You should get the fuck out of town," she said, "No reason for both of us to get killed."

And she drove off before Reacher could reply.

He looked again at the fallen bikers. Then, he started walking.


	2. Chapter 2

**Motel Northern Comfort**

**Later that evening**

After an hour long walk, Reacher found a small motel. A bald white man in his 60s and a bad limp was behind the counter. The man was friendly enough. Reacher signed under a fake name. He paid two nights, cash. Then he went to his room. A small cube. There was king sized bed. A TV. Bathroom. It was clean. It has a roof and running water. The rest didn't matter.

He lied down on the bed. He turned on the TV. He flipped through the channels. Gossip. Scandals. A news story about a huge arrest in old quarry a few months before. Some crazy terrorist plot to poison the water reserves in New York City. The guy had no chance of ever seeing the light of day. Reacher listened for a while. Then he turned off the television.

That girl. He had a very bad feeling about what could happen to her. What could he do? He didn't know her. He didn't know the town. He didn't know if he could trust the local police. He had to do something. He'd memorized her license plate. Why? He was always a bit manic with numbers. Maybe he hoped to be able to track her down. How?

Someone knocked on his door.

"Mr. Ellington?" a voice called.

It was the fake name he used. He was always inspired by musicians or professional athletes when he picked a fake name.

"This is the police, Mr. Ellington."

Reacher thought of several possibilities to get out of this. He decided against them and he opened the door.

Two men in uniform greeted him. He saw the patrol car. The white men, good shape, clean shaven. Mid 30s. One had red hair. The other had brown hair.

"What is it?" Reacher asked.

"I'm police chief Ward. This is officer Mitch. We have a few questions regarding an incident at the diner earlier."

"Word travels fast."

Mitch, the red headed cop: "Well, this is a small town, sir."

Ward spoke after: "We'd like to speak with you at the station. Maybe we can sort this out."

Something wasn't quite right. _They own the cops._

"What is there to sort out?" Reacher asked.

"We'd rather talk to you at the station house, sir," Ward said.

"Talk about what?"

"Look," Ward said, "There are people saying you attacked a bunch of guys and they're now at the hospital, hurt. You can be a hardass about it or you can cooperate. It's up to you."

Soon, Reacher heard other engines and saw two pickup trucks show up. One from the left. One from the right. He saw men get out of them. Not cops. Bikers. Five of them. With pistols and shotguns. Aimed at him. One of them had his arm in a sling. The one smacking the girl around earlier.

"Jesus Christ, chief," one of them said, "What the fuck was taking so long?"

"Trying to earn this guy's trust," Ward said, "Wasn't easy."

"He doesn't trust you?" the biker said, "He's not that fuckin' stupid after all."

"All yours, guys," Ward said.

The two cops got in their car and drove off.

"Remember me, you fuck?" the biker with the broken arm said, his pistol aimed at Reacher.

"Hard to forget," Reacher said.

"Yeah, same for me. And by the way, that bitch you rescued, she's gettin' a visit from some of my buddies. They're gonna hurt her. Bad. And for a long time. Then kill her. Thought you'd like to know."

"Good for them," Reacher said, "Everyone needs a hobby."

He knew he sounded cold and callous. But he felt anger. At himself.

"You're gonna come with us, hero," Broken Arm said.

"No."

"What?"

"You deaf, asshole?" Reacher said, "You keep making me repeat myself. I hate repeating myself to assholes."

The bikers chuckled. There was no way Reacher, unarmed, could take five armed men. This was not going to end well. But he won't be an easy kill.

Another biker, on Reacher's left, armed with a Remington shotgun, spoke up: "Let's just kill this motherfucker and get the fuck out of here."

"Witnesses," another said.

"We'll do them too. Fuck it."

"Ok, sounds good."

"Oh, yeah," Broken Arm said, walking closer to Reacher and raising his pistol. Maybe Reacher could disarm this guy and use him as a shield, take his gun.

Then something wonderful happened. Broken Arm's head was blown apart. The left part of his skull exploded, spraying brains and blood and he fell sideways.

Before any of the other four could react, they all took headshots. Four shots in four seconds. The half decapitated corpses collapsed and twitched in crimson puddles.

And just like that, no more bikers.

Someone had taken them out with a silenced weapon. Some damn good shooting. Center of foreheads for the last four.

Reacher felt some approach him and then turned around. And he saw the shooter.

It was White man not quite as big as he was. Maybe two inches shorter. Somewhat lighter in weight, not by much. Everything told Reacher that this man was in exceptional physical condition. His hard face looked like that of a 60 year old. Black hair. Black fatigues. Black silenced M-4 carbine. Black body armor. White skull painted on the body armor.

Every cop on the planet knew this guy. Every American soldier knew this guy. Reacher spoke first.

"Frank Castle. The Punisher."

Castle looked at Reacher for a second. Two seconds. And said:

"Jack Reacher."

"How..."

"Not now. You've been targeted by some bad people. You want help or not?"

Reacher looked at the dead bodies. He had bikers against him and some corrupt cops as well. He was bad at staying out of trouble. Bad at tolerating bullies. Bad at admitting he might need help. Never too late to learn.

"I'll take it," Reacher said.

"Let's go."

They went to a black van. Castle went behind the wheel. Reacher went to the passenger seat. In the back, he saw a surprise.

The young brunette from the diner.

She didn't look happy, but she was alive.

The Punisher drove away.

"You were there, at the diner," Reacher said, "You saw the fight."

"Yeah."

"You didn't interfere."

"No. You did before I could."

"You didn't back me up."

"Wrong. I had those punks in my crosshairs the whole time. Just in case one of them was armed. You had the situation under control."

That explained the feeling Reacher had during the fight. When he felt watched. It was Castle.

Reacher looked back at the girl.

"You knew they would come after us," Reacher said, "You followed her after the fight. The bikers probably had a team there. You took them out. You're keeping her safe for now. How did you know where to find me?"

"She told me that the only place where a stranger could crash would be the motel," Castle said, "It was a gamble. It worked out."

"Dana," the girl said.

Reacher looked at her.

"My name is Dana," she said.

"Well, Dana, I'm Reacher," Reacher said, "I guess you know this guy?"

"Everybody knows The Punisher," Dana said.

"I'm sorry about this mess, Dana," Reacher said.

"Yeah," Dana answered, "So am I."


	3. Chapter 3

Sometime later, they were at a closed down gas station, slightly out of town limits. It was Castle's temporary base of operations. There were crates of bottled water, some canned food. Sleeping bags. Castle didn't need much luxury.

He took off his body armor.

"You're here to take out that biker gang," Reacher said.

"They're called the Crimson Demons. Gambling. Extortion. Crystal Meth. Prostitution," Castle said.

"Typical biker gang stuff. Besides, since you're...the Punisher and all, it wasn't hard to figure out. What I haven't figured was how you knew who I was."

"It was a guess. In the diner, when you were ready to get to fight the 'Demons, I caught your eyes."

"You recognized my eyes?"

"You had the same look your father had when he got ready to kill."

_Of course_, Reacher thought.

"You served with my father in Vietnam," Reacher said.

"Stan Reacher taught me everything I know. Hardest man I ever met. Finest Marine I've ever known."

"How did you know I wasn't Joe?"

Castle looked at Reacher: "I just knew. He told me about you guys, once. We talked about our kids. I knew."

Reacher said nothing. He looked over at Dana, further, eating some canned pasta.

"She's not gonna be safe until this is over," Castle said.

"Until what is over?"

"Until we kill all of the Crimson Demons," Castle said.

"Oh, is that all?"

"Yeah."

"You're serious?"

"With what happened to their buddies at the motel and at her place, they're gonna probably call a meeting. Guys from neighboring chapters will be in town. The Demons bought an old hangar and made it into a compound. Key members. Plus security."

"Are you for real?"

"They're powerful. They know what you look like. They own the local cops. They probably bought state cops, even feds," Castle said, "Sooner or later, they'll find you."

Reacher said nothing.

"You need these guys to be dead, Reacher," Castle said.

Reacher looked at Dana again.

"How long have you been doing this, thirty years?" Reacher asked.

"Closer to thirty-seven," Castle said.

"You know you can't win this crazy war of yours."

Castle said nothing.

"Why go on?" Reacher said.

"Somebody has to."

"That's it?"

"How long have you been out of the service, Reacher?"

"About fifteen years."

"You've been wandering all over the place since then?"

"Yeah."

"This is the first time you wandered into trouble?"

Reacher said nothing.

"And every other time, you just turned away or did you try to set things straight?"

Reacher said nothing.

"You see someone stomping on others, it makes you angry. You stop them."

Reacher said nothing.

"I've been angry every minute of every day for thirty-seven years," Castle said.

Reacher knew about Castle's history. How his family had been gunned down in front of him by Mafia hit men. Wrong place, wrong time. Castle avenged his family. He hasn't stopped since. He showed no signs of getting tired. He didn't look like a wide-eyed fanatic. He looked terrifyingly sane. Which was maybe the worst sort of madman. But was Frank Castle really _that_ crazy?

Reacher could understand anger. He could understand vengeance. He could understand breaking the law to balance the books. He'd done it more than a few times. As a military cop. As a civilian.

He looked at Dana. The Demons had sent men to kill her. To make an example. They had done the same to him.

_Let's just kill this motherfucker and get the fuck out of here. Witnesses? We'll do them too, fuck it._

They were willing to kill him, Dana and whoever stood in their way. Like it was casual. Like people were just annoying insects. Castle was right. Reacher was pissed off. Arrogant, powerful bastards like that set him off.

"You're out of your mind," Dana said.

Reacher and Castle turned towards her.

"You think you can them on? At their bunker?" she said.

Reacher said nothing. Castle went to get a water bottle.

"You men," Dana said, "You think fists and guns can solve everything?"

"You wanna go see them? Cut a deal with them? Hand us over? Try it, see what happens. Or maybe just run right now, hope you never run across one of those guys? Spend years looking over your shoulder," Reacher said.

Dana didn't answer. Castle came back and handed her a water bottle. She hesitated and finally, took it. She took a good swig.

"Guys like that always push people around because they know nobody ever stands up to them," Reacher said, "It's time for this to end."

"Whatever," Dana said.

She was getting groggy. Her eyes were heavier.

"You..."she said. And she fainted.

"Sedative," Castle said, "She'll be out for several hours. Keeps her from doing something stupid."

Reacher didn't like the idea of drugging a vulnerable young woman. But...he'd had unpleasant surprises from people he tried to help in the past. Castle's methods weren't very nice, but they made sense. In a cold, tactical way.

Castle pulled out a laptop and opened it. He pushed a few keys. Soon, there were pictures. They looked like satellite pictures.

"This is their HQ," Castle said, "It's surrounded by an electric fence. The main building is where they hold meetings. The smaller structure is the meth lab."

"How did you get those?" Reacher said.

"I got them from a friend," Castle said, "Like I said earlier, there are six to eight high ranking members on the premises. Another dozen handling security on the compound. Guys from different chapters on the East Coast. No prospects. No girls. It's some kind of summit. Plus six to twelve guys watching the lab, depending on the time of day."

"Feds know about this place?"

"Yeah."

"They know what's going on here?"

"Yeah. They just can't prove it."

"How come?"

"Every undercover agent placed in that outfit has been found out and killed. Sometimes, the family was killed along with cop. Sometimes, there was collateral damage. Car bombs. Fires."

Reacher saw that Castle's face hardened when mentioning dead families and innocent bystanders. That was close to him for The Punisher.

"You weren't kidding earlier. These guys are wired. They have friends in high places."

"Yeah."

"How did you find out about it?" Reacher asked.

"I asked around," Castle said.

"You have your own...friends," Reacher said.

Castle didn't answer. Reacher took that as a "yes". It would make sense that The Punisher would have sympathisers in the law enforcement community. Street snitches could only know so much. There had to be plenty of cops and Feds frustrated about the lack of results or the level of corruption in their agencies. The Punisher became a lesser evil. Maybe those same people had access to satellite pictures as well.

"There's no cover," Reacher said, "We show up, we're sitting ducks."

"Yeah."

"What kind of weapons are we dealing with?"

"Submachine guns, assault weapons, shotguns, handguns."

"So...full frontal assault, huh?"

"Yeah. You're up to this? No shame in backing down."

"They made this personal, Castle. When do we hit it?"

"Tonight," he said, "Any ideas?"

Reacher thought about it. And had only one answer:

"One: kill them all."

"Agreed."

They heard a vehicle closing in. A message appeared on Castle's laptop.

"You expecting someone?" Reacher asked.

"Yeah," Castle said.

The Punisher picked the girl up and put her on his shoulder. They all went outside.

An ambulance stopped by. A man came out.

Asian. About 5'7". In his 30s. Slender. A bit nervous looking.

"Holy crap," the new man said, "It's really you."

"Who sent you?" Castle said.

"You know..."

"Say it."

"Finchy sent me."

"Prove it."

The Asian pulled out a smart phone and handed to Castle. Castle put to his ear. Reacher couldn't hear whoever was on the other line.

"Yeah, fine... He's here... Thanks... I owe you... And your friend in the suit."

He handed the Asian the phone.

"You're Leon Tao," Castle said.

"Yeah and you're..."

"Yeah."

The man answering to the name Leon Tao looked at Reacher for the first time.

"Tao. The gurney," Castle said.

"Oh, yeah, sure."

Soon, Dana was strapped on the gurney and in the ambulance.

"You know," Tao said, "This fake ambulance gig has got me a bit nervous ever since..."

"You have the shelter's address?" Castle said.

"Yeah, I..."

"Then, leave," Castle said.

"Sure...right...right...see ya around, I guess..."Tao said.

And he drove off.

"You have interesting friends, Frank," Reacher said.

"Allies," Castle said.

"Let's go to work. Those bikers aren't gonna kill themselves."


	4. Chapter 4

**The Crimson Demons HQ**

**The lab**

**Night time**

Donny "Frags" Williams has been a striker for the Crimson Demons for years. He handled security. Hits.

He had an important job. He had to watch over the lab. It was one of their larger operations on the East Coast. And they had to get it together in record time. They had a major connection for a designer drug that some big shit ex-chemist had created: Cortex. A few months ago, that lab was wiped out. Big time federal bust. Holloway, the chemistry geek that came up with Cortex, got charged with some fuckin' terrorist bullshit.

So, in the past couple of months, they built this facility. "Butcher" Hicks, leader of this chapter of the Demons, was so proud, he invited brothers from other chapters to check it out.

It was up to Frags to watch over it. Along with his best soldiers. Hardcore, battled tested motherfuckers.

Hicks was a genius. Frags always knew it. Hicks knew that the best way to control the cops and feds wasn't with threats or guns. Sure, they killed a couple of undercover pigs, but that wasn't it.

Bribes did the job, but not only bribes. That was enough for the local cops and even the fuckin' state cops.

Blackmail was the main shit.

Butcher had ugly shit on a bunch of feds, prosecutors, judges and the Governors...Hookers, drugs, bribes, some gay shit, even one judge that was a kiddie fucker. A fuckin' fire and brimstone type too. Those were always the worst.

Also, like most crooks, you needed some legit businesses. Bars, stores, shit like that.

And that was how you could have a huge fuckin' bunker with Crimson Demon flags wavin' and not be bothered by the Law. Killing motherfuckers and terrorizing the mindless zombies calling themselves "honest citizens" out there wasn't enough.

_Honest my ass_, Frags thought.

Every motherfucker out there is lookin' to cheat. Cheat on their taxes, cheat on their wives, downloading illegal movies and music and shit. Fuckin' suit and tie bankers robbing the shit out the zombies for millions. Almost took this country under.

But, hard times were good for business. People need to get high and get laid when shit got rough. Gambling too. And for the Demons, business was always good. As long as people need the finer, but illegal, pleasures in life, Demons were always gonna make money.

There wasn't much that could stop them. Some asshole tried earlier, though. He jumped some of the guys trying to a collect from that Dana bitch. They were supposed to settle that. They still haven't called in yet. Probably takin' their time, making it ugly.

Sending a message to all of the other assholes out there who wanna fuck the Demons.

Frags was lost in his thoughts, looking at his men, watching over the chemists working on Meth, Ecstasy and all sorts of other goodies. He was focused. Maybe that was why he didn't quite register one of the side windows breaking right away. It took a second. He thought it was one of the chemists who dropped something.

That wasn't it.

Something zoomed very fast past him and left a trail of smoke.

He had one other second to realize what it was. One to say: "Fuck me."

And all Hell was unleashed.

**300 yards away**

Jack Reacher was holding the empty Stinger missile launcher tube. Castle was next to him with the laser targeting device. He switched to binoculars after the projectile was launched.

From their position, they saw the building go up in a huge fireball. Followed by several secondary blasts. The roof came up. The walls held, though. Fire and debris came out of all of the side windows. From their position, the felt the ground rumble somewhat. It was a drug lab. It was probably filled with flammables.

"Nice shot, Major," Castle said.

"Nice aiming, Captain," Reacher said.

"The bunker itself is still standing," Castle said.

"They probably built that thing to resist a siege if cops ever came at them," Reacher said, "They were prepared for everything."

"They weren't prepared for us," Castle said.

Reacher was feeling...Not good, he never took pleasure in killing. There was a cold satisfaction knowing that those men who crushed others for their own gain were waking up, startled, scared even.

"You ready for some real work, Major?" Castle asked.

"I'm ready all right, Captain. That's for damn sure."

They climbed into the van. Reacher got behind the wheel. He wasn't the better driver. He didn't like driving. He wasn't particularly good at it. But he didn't need to be for what was planned.

**The Crimson Demons Bunker**

"Butcher" Hicks woke up when he heard what he thought was thunder. He believed that for a split second.

But it wasn't no fuckin' thunder. It was an explosion. It sounded like fucking Hiroshima. The walls shook. Shit fell to the ground. Hicks was almost knocked off his bed.

Someone opened his bedroom door. Roadkill Roberts, one of his main guys.

"Jesus Christ, Butcher, the lab went up!"

"What!"

"Somebody took out-"

Another blast shook the ground.

"Someone nuked the fuckin' lab, Butcher!"

Denial was a powerful thing. Butcher couldn't accept what he was hearing. It made no fucking sense. The lab got nuked? What the fuck? He turned on his flat screen TV. It was hooked to the security cameras.

And then he saw it.

"What the fuck..." Hicks said, "Who the fuck..."

Using a remote, Hicks flicked from one camera to another. He saw the cameras looking down at the front gate and he couldn't believe his eyes.

A van. One van, coming in full speed toward the gate.

"We're...under attack?" Hicks said.

"Are those guys cops or some shit?" Road Kill said.

"I don't who the fuck they are, but they die. Get the brothers ready for war."

Hicks got his shit together. Got up. Got dressed. Put on a bullet proof vest. He grabbed his .357 mag Colt Python and put it in his belt. He grabbed an AK-47. He recovered from the initial shock. He was about do some righteous killing.

Then another blast rocked the compound.

**Outside**

Castle had explained to Reacher that this wasn't a regular van. It had been modified. Bullet proofed windshield and tires. Hyped up engine. Special slits in the doors, to set up guns. Reacher had Castle's M-4, with a 90 round drum mag, fitted with a 40 mm launcher, set up on the passenger seat with the sound suppressed barrel sticking out the door slit.

The sound suppressor wasn't for any stealth strategy. The Stinger ruined that. It was so Reacher wouldn't go deaf from firing a fully automatic weapon from inside the vehicle. He still wore earplugs and additional ear protection over them.

Castle was in the back. He had fired a LAW rocket from an opening in the van's roof at the Demons' front gate and knocked it right down. He had made larger sliding slits in the side panels. He was wearing earplugs and more ear protection as well.

He was holding an M-60, loaded with 200 armor piercing 7.62 mm rounds in a box magazine, from the left side of the van.

Several bikers were firing at the van. M-16s. Uzis. AK-47s. None of that even dented the van's armor.

Reacher fired short controlled bursts with his right hand. Driving with his left. The rifle was loaded with armor piercing rounds. It went through Kevlar vests and organs. He took out three that were on his right.

On the left, Reacher saw a Jeep with four bikers armed with sub machine guns and rifles coming in fast. All of them were firing. Reacher figured that bikers weren't always on bikes when it wasn't practical.

Castle's 7.62 rounds tore through into them. It was like someone had tossed them a bunch of chainsaws. The engine was perforated. Their chests were ripped open, their skulls were blown apart sending blood and chunks in the air.

Others on the left were running for cover. Castle caught them in the back. Three more went down face first that way.

Reacher ran two more bikers over with the van.

It was chaos. Blood. Screams. Fire. Smoke. The sound of bullets pounding the armored van.

This was a war. He kept hearing the bikers' words as they were talking about killing the girl. When they were going to kill him.

_They're gonna hurt her. Bad. And for a long time. Then kill her._

_Witnesses? We do them too, fuck it._

He saw another Jeep come on his right. Four bikers in it. He fired a 40 mm High Explosive at the coming vehicle. The explosion flipped the Jeep and it made several rollovers, crushing the men.

Castle smacked Reacher's shoulder. He pointed at the bunker. Reacher nodded. He turned the van around and back to the Big House. Reacher then stopped the van several yards from the front of the house. He reloaded the 40 mm grenade launcher and fired at the solid steel doors.

There was a loud explosion and a serious dent. But the doors weren't knocked down.

Castle didn't waste time. He signaled Reacher to put the van further away from the doors. Reacher did. Meanwhile, Castle came up with another LAW rocket. He fired at the doors. The explosion must have sounded like the end of the world inside of the house. The doors flew in. Whoever stood behind them would be crushed or killed by shrapnel.

Castle slung a USAS-12 Automatic shotgun on his back. He looked at Reacher and nodded. Reacher nodded back. The Punisher slid open the van door and went outside. Reacher slipped an MP-5 submachine gun from Heckler and Koch on his back. He also put on a ballistic mask. He was wearing body armor with a white skull painted on it. Both men went inside the House.

Seven dead bikers later, they found a biker Reacher recognized as Butcher Hicks, from Castle's files. Both were aiming their weapons at him. He was armed with an AK-47.

"Drop the guns, Hicks," Castle said.

Hicks looked at them both. Then his shoulders slumped. He was defeated. He dropped his rifle. Then his .357 magnum.

"Let's talk," Castle said.

"Talk about what?" Hicks said.

Castle looked at Reacher. Reacher looked back at the Punisher. Then, Reacher figured it out. Reacher said what they wanted to talk about. Hicks had a glimmer of hope. It took a minute and he gave them what they wanted. They verified what was given.

"So, guys," Hicks said, "Can we deal?"

Castle looked at Reacher. Reacher looked at Hicks and back at Castle.

"Let's just kill this motherfucker and get the fuck out of here," Reacher said.

"Sounds good," Castle said.

"Hey," Hicks said.

Reacher shot Hicks in the forehead with the M4. Hicks fell on his back with parts of his skull missing.

Reacher and Castle walked out of the house.


	5. Chapter 5

"The stuff you wanted from Hicks," Reacher said, "That was unexpected."

"More to Punishing the guilty than shooting bad guys," Castle said.

"Never figured you for a guy that looked at the big picture," Reacher said.

"Live and learn," Castle said.

What Hicks had given Reacher and Castle were flash drives. Containing evidence of bribes. Blackmail. Pictures with mistresses and boyfriends. Using his laptop in the van, Castle sent the files to various media outlets. To the FBI. The IRS. The Justice Department. A lot of heads were going to roll.

"This is gonna cause a shit storm," Reacher said.

"Good," Castle said.

Reacher said nothing.

They headed back to the abandoned garage Castle used as a HQ. Castle gave Reacher a change of clothes. And shoes. They were close enough in size. Reacher washed up a little. He shaved. He wanted to get the stink of death and war off himself.

About what he and Castle did to the bikers, he'd think about it for a while. About how easy it had been. Then, not at all. As always. _Never dwell on the past too much. Always keep moving forward._

Soon, Castle was behind the wheel in his van.

"Need a ride?" Castle asked.

"You going back to New York?" Reacher said.

"Yeah," Castle answered.

Reacher thought about it for a second. And, for no particular reason:

"Nah," Reacher said, "I'll head the other way."

"Bus stop?"

"I'll hitch a ride," Reacher said, "I always do that."

"Suit yourself," Castle said.

Reacher and Castle exchanged a look and a nod. They said nothing. But spoke volumes. And The Punisher drove off. Reacher watched the van disappear into the night.

Reacher stood on the side of the road in the cool nocturnal air. It would be sunrise soon.

He stuck out his thumb.


End file.
